Los Angeles has never been a very optimistic place within the realm of American cinema. If Los Angeles isn't being depicted as the throne of empty Hollywood dreams and materialistic ennui, then it is the home of horrific gang violence, racial unrest, and uncontrollable crime. Mick Jackson's L.A. Story, on the other hand, looks at all of the city's flaws and suggests that there still might be something great, or dare I say beautiful, within. Even though L.A. Story is directed by Jackson, it is really Steve Martin's film. As both writer and star, Martin's comedic and dramatic sensibilities, at once extravagant and deadpan, give the film its soul. The film follows TV meteorologist Harris K. Telemacher (Martin) as he falls in and out of love with different women while navigating the absurd L.A. cultural landscape. Soon Telemacher starts receiving advice from a seemingly sentient freeway traffic condition sign. Why? Because Los Angeles wants to help him. And therein lies the film's brilliance: despite L.A.'s problems (like fancy restaurants that require potential diners to undergo lengthy audits, muggers who literally line up next to ATM's to rob people who make withdrawals, and gun-totting, trigger-happy freeway motorists), there is still much to love there. Where else can you roller-blade through art museums? Where else can you accurately predict the weather 5 days in advance (72 degrees and sunny)? Where else can you find impossible love and romance ripped from the screen of a Hollywood movie? I'll tell you where: Los Angeles.
9/10
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